


Cashew Redux

by Thealien



Category: Blush Blush (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealien/pseuds/Thealien
Summary: You decide to spend a rare day off in the library, to relax and unwind. Instead, you find Cashew.Second person Reader-Insert, no defined pronouns or genitalia mentioned.No Content Warnings apply.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Cashew Redux

It’d been a few weeks since Cashew impulsively texted you and you’d almost forgotten about it. Well, not quite _forgotten_ —he’s way too cute for that—but with all your jobs and hobbies and the whole quest thing, you haven’t exactly had any time to think about anything more than cramming a meal in before your next shift.

Someone told you once that having hobbies was important for a work/life balance, but you suspect they meant something calmer than the marathon training you’ve been up to, trying to anticipate what life would throw at you next. You have _words_ for everyone who thinks having a harem of boyfriends would make life easier.

But for now, you can actually forget about that. Your boys were all busy with their own lives, it’s finally your day off, and you can enjoy the library like a normal person who isn’t tangled up in the most ridiculous magic plot in the world.

You take your time selecting some books. You grab a few for college—your part time classes will be starting up again soon and you should get a head-start on them—and more for fun. Mostly romances; you’d think you’d have your fill by now but it’s oddly soothing to read about someone else’s quest for love.

Plus, it gives you some ideas for dates. Nimh and Kelby are such suckers for the roses-and-chocolate stuff and if you catch Volks in the right mood, he isn’t exactly off-put. No matter how hard-pressed you are for time, you’ll switch to a stronger coffee before you stop spoiling your boys.

And not just for the opportunity for them to hard-press you. 

You snicker at the stupid joke as you settle into your preferred reading area. It was the perfect atmosphere for reading; a gently rolling rainstorm pattering against the window and two plush armchairs, worn in all the right places to cozy in. And a conveniently placed coffee table for your thermos and stack of books.

You kick off your shoes, curl up in the chair, and have a nice long sigh.

It’s sometime later—long enough to have several pages of notes written up—when a voice interrupts your reading. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize someone else was, uh, sitting over here. Do you mind if I join you?”

Your mind is too preoccupied with your work—you’re copying the world’s longest table and you don’t want to lose your place—so you just mumble an assent without looking up. Thankfully, your new reading partner isn’t perturbed by your rudeness and just bumbles to the other chair.

By the time you’ve finished and can look up, he’s settled into his own reading, and it’s good because you’re staring at him now like a creep.

It’s Cashew. The same ashy hair, brushed loose and free, and those shy green eyes, though they’re eager right now on his book. Which is a normal book—looks like a fantasy novel judging by the dragon on the cover—and not that smutty one that he’d found with your number in it (and you really do need to sort out which of your boys did that at some point).

He’d not contacted you again, after that night, and after a lot of debate, you figured it best to let him go. After all, he’d just wanted the text equivalent of a one-night stand, it’d be weird to try for more. Though he had mentioned at the beginning that he’d wanted to be your friend…

You wet your lips, considering the options. You’re not sure you could handle sitting here for the rest of your planned evening, next to someone you mutually jacked it with, without saying _something_. At least if you tell him, you could both die of awkwardness. Then again, you’re pretty sure his wishing you luck and not texting you again meant that that was that. But on the third hand, he did say he hoped next time to get tangled up in your adventures.

“Uhm, are you alright? Is there… something on my face?”

Oh god he noticed you staring. You were smooth, you’re supposed to be confident; have all those classes been for nothing? You swallow back the panic and will your heart to slow while you pull on your best smile.

“Sorry, no, I was just trying to figure out how to introduce myself… Cashew.” He blinks at you, clearly surprised, and you continue before he can ask the obvious question. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to know that I’m Reader.”

It’s a little fascinating how quickly emotions flicker over his face or at least it would be, if you weren’t nervous yourself. Confusion, recognition, horror, embarrassment. If this was a cartoon, his glasses would’ve flown off his face while his eyes bugged out. As it stands, he just burns a shocking crimson and sweeps a hand through his fluffy hair.

“Oh. Uhm.”

He turns away slightly, not quite crumpling in on himself but definitely going a little bit turtle in his jacket. You try to ignore the sinking feeling—this wasn’t meant to go past text and just because he showed you his cock doesn’t mean he wanted more than that—and straighten up your books. This may be your favorite part of the library, but it’s far from the only good reading nook. There’s a nice couch upstairs, near a fake fireplace, that’s excellent for lounging on. 

“I’ve hogged this spot for nearly,” you glance at your watch and suppress a sigh. “An hour, so you enjoy it. Probably be easier to take notes with a desk anyways.”

“No!”

Before you can do more than start to slide out the chair, he shouts, arm darting out like he was going to grab you despite the fact that you aren’t even really moving.

“I mean, I don’t want to, uh, kick you out of the spot. We can sit together. I’m just, uh, reading, and you’re working, and moving workstations in the middle is horrible and this is fine, unless you don’t think so? Do you not want to sit here?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard anyone talk that fast before. Not even that time Anon forgot he was a lemur and drank a whole can of Mega Rush Crush.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You say, opting for the truth and he nods like a marionette whose puppeteer just got a thousand volts.

“You don’t, I just didn’t expect to ever… see you. I’m sorry, this is, uh, new territory for me. Again.”

You settle back into your chair, watching him. He’s fidgeting, book held against his chest like a life preserver, and his hair is now very mussed from him tugging on the ends. He was still blushing but it was calming a little, from that vibrant red to a more flushed pink.

“I kind of figured it was a one night thing too.” You say and he swallows; you speak before he does. “Though I was hoping for maybe a bit more.”

He doesn’t seem to have a reply to that, so you reopen your book, watching him in your periphery. He opens his book again too, after a moment, occasionally sneaking glances at you. You’ve just about gotten re-engrossed into the text when he speaks.

“What were you hoping for?”

His book is up high, higher than is strictly necessary or even comfortable for reading, and it blocks most of his face. All you can see is his eyes, resolutely glued to the page, and you smile.

“Well, I really did like the little fantasy you came up with. Love to see what else you’ve been thinking. Maybe share some of my own.”

His legs shift, knees pressing together for a moment, and his fingers twitch.

“But also, I think you’re genuinely sweet and I would like to be friends, if you’re interested.”

Cashew peeks over the book again and you smile at him, trying to look both sincere and nonthreatening.

“Really? Even though I’m, uh,”

“Adorable?”

“Inexperienced.” He shifts on the chair again, twisting. “You’re really… not. And-”

“Hey, don’t go putting me on pedestals.” You interrupt again and he stops. “I’m just a person with a massive caffeine addiction and a near compulsive need to stick my nose in other people’s business.”

He smiles at that and you close your book, considering your next words. He isn’t exactly patient, but doesn’t go hiding on you again, so you find yourself hopeful. And a little glad that he wasn’t one of the boys you cursed; he’d be much harder to coax if he had a literal shell to hide in.

“I think you’re cool and I’d like to get to know you. Which would mean you getting to know me as the weird, animal-smooching person that I am and not as some sort of sexy adventurer.”

“Aren’t you both?” He says and then clearly regrets it. “I mean, you’re on an adventure. And you’re, uhm, pretty sexy. If you don’t mind my saying.”

You can’t help but laugh at that and he seems a little less tense too. The air feels a little clearer now that you’ve both confirmed that you like each other. He smiles back at you, still flushed but meeting your eyes.

You both return to your reading, or at least, he does. You return to looking like you’re reading but actually, you’re thinking about him. You were a little nervous that he wouldn’t be attracted to you—after all, he only had whatever was written in the book to go on and you hope that they didn’t write up a full profile.

You give up the pretense and sit back in your chair, studying him. He’s not fully into his book yet, he glances up at you in question when you move but resumes reading when you just flash a smile. Either he’s unaware you’re staring again or he doesn’t mind; you suspect the former.

He really is pretty. Even with his hair a mess from his futzing, it falls in a cute little mane that you want to fluff up. And he has such a cherub’s face, all soft and round and perfect to cup between your hands. Thin lips, but you bet you could redden them up in no time.

By the time green eyes meet yours, you’ve already undressed and defiled him a million different ways, and by the look of his cheeks, he knows what you’re thinking about.

He asks anyways.

“Can I… help you with something?” He wets his lips, unconscious, you think. “You’ve been, uh, staring. Again.”

“Well, you’re a sweet thing to look at, you know.” You say, charm turning on automatically, and he swallows. “Can’t seem to help myself.”

You make a show of resting your head on your hand, elbow perched on the arm of the chair and get a nervous laugh for the effort. And another case of shifty legs; you’re starting to suspect why he can’t seem to find a comfortable position.

Sadly, his jacket is bunched up around his middle, so you can’t quite confirm your suspicions visually. But the speed his book drops to his lap when he notices where you’re looking now is a little more than a hint.

“Really? I didn’t know I, uh, was that interesting. To look at.” He stammers, folding his hands on top of the book.

“Really-really.” You say, letting him keep his “secret” for now. “I was just thinking how much I love your hair.”

He frowns, glancing up at it.

“My hair? It’s just… hair.” You waggle your fingers.

“And bodies are just bodies, Cash, but we’re talking specifics. Do you know what your hair makes me want to do?”

“Brush it?” He guesses and you smile.

“Maybe another time. With some ribbons. But right now, I was thinking that I’d like to have you right here,” you pat the top of your thighs, where currently a book sits. “So, I can play with you—your hair. It’s very relaxing, you know.”

You stumble intentionally, leaving a very obvious line to read into, and he only hesitates a second before nodding.

“That sounds…nice. I’ve never had someone pet my hair before.”

You grin and set your book aside, gesturing towards your empty lap. Again, there’s a brief hesitation, but he comes over to you, gangly limbs unsure, and you guide him onto your chair.

He sits with his back against your chest, your legs wrapped around him, and you immediately snuggle into a hug before you can help yourself. He’s tense, unsure, but both his hands settle onto yours and you can work with nervous. You’re close enough in height that his head is directly in front of you, so it’s a perfect position for your plans. One arm wrapped around his middle, holding him but loosely, not threateningly, and your dominant hand free for whatever you’d like to do to your willing captive.

Before he can second-guess this, you brush your fingers into his hair. Just like you thought, its soft as clouds. And smells faintly of coffee. He sighs and you grin secretive as you finger-brush through. Not even someone as nervous as him can resist your expert hair play and it’s not long before he’s relaxed back into you, holding your other hand as though this a was a natural way for him to be spending his evening.

“Not too scary, right?” You ask, teasing a little, and he breathes a laugh.

“No, it’s… it’s really nice. Uhm. A little weird still but,” His head turns funny to try and look at you before he gives up. “I like it.”

“I’m glad.” You say, honestly, and though you had planned to make this a lot more sexual, for the moment you’re actually inclined to let this rest.

It’s still gray and raining outside, but you’re cuddled up to a sweet boy and he’s all warm and lax. You can see his reflection in the window; his eyes are shut and he’s got the softest little smile you’ve ever seen. You’d love nothing more to despoil this little angel, but at the same time, it’s such a cozy atmosphere that you’re loathe to rock the boat.

“I didn’t think you meant… literally play with my hair.” He says, after a while.

But maybe he was interested in rocking the boat. Or armchair, as the case was currently.

“Disappointed?” You ask, twirling a curl around your index finger.

If he wanted more, you certainly weren’t going to refuse him. But making him _ask_ for it seemed like a fair price.

“No! It, this is great, I didn’t uh, know how nice it was to be, uhm, held. Or pet.” He swallows and you squeeze him a little, just enough to make him relax back against you. “I just, figured you maybe were going to, uh… I don’t know.”

You flatten your hand on his stomach, feeling the shirt he’s wearing and the softness of his form, and his breath immediately catches before he forces it down.

“You say you ‘figured’ but I kind of think you might’ve been ‘hoping’.” You say, sliding your thumb up and down.

It’s a chaste touch, just an intimate one, but he’s still and silent like you pulled out a foot long dildo and told him to bend over. 

“I, maybe. I’m still a little, uh, lost here.”

You let go of his hair to lean forward and rest your face on his shoulder. He shivers when he feels your breath tickle him.

“What are you lost on? I’ve been told I give excellent directions.”

A weak laugh and his hand rests above yours, pushing you in to hold him a little firmer.

“I remember that from when we texted. When you wanted me to… show you how I felt. How you made me feel.”

“And how are you feeling right now?”

His hand takes yours and slides up to his chest, your fingers intertwine above his heartbeat.

“I’m pretty sure my heart’s about to break my sternum.”

“In a bad way, or…?”

Your dominant hand snakes around him too, back around his middle so you’ve got him trapped, and he shakes his head minutely.

“Not… not bad. I’m just, uhm,”

“Having a _hard_ time finding your words?”

You can’t resist and you get a startled laugh from it. You also get your hand moved again, sliding further up his chest, briefly along his neck, and then resting against his cheek. You automatically stroke your thumb along his cheekbone and leans into the touch. It takes him a few minutes to speak.

“I don’t want to do this if I’m not going to see you again.”

He says it in such a quiet voice, like a confession, and you shake off the jokey attitude.

“You wouldn’t be the only one I’m seeing.” You say, as gently as you can manage.

“I know, I read what one of your… lovers wrote. I don’t need to be the only one, I just don’t want to be… disposable?”

It’s a question, but not really, and you kind of wish he was facing you so you could rest your forehead against his while you reassured him. But you suspect the fact that you can only see his vague reflection in the dark window is the reason he’s able to speak so plainly now.

“I don’t do disposable lovers. Text flings are one thing, but I would never just disappear on you. I said I wanted to get to know you, didn’t I?”

“You did, I just… wasn’t sure if uhm. You were maybe just saying that. To be nice, or something?”

“Well, I usually don’t pull people into my laps when I _don’t_ like them, Cash. And I’d hope you wouldn’t hop onto people just ‘cause they said to.”

“I don’t, I just… I wasn’t sure how to say that…”

You kind of hope he figures it out so you can either get back to daydreaming and petting him or acting on those daydreams. The floundering half-starts suggest he won’t.

“If you’re feeling suggestible, then I don’t want to accidentally influence you into something you don’t want. But it’ll be a lot easier if you just say whatever it is.”

You push off him, bringing your hands back to lightly around his middle and leaning back into your chair, and he turns his head to look at you. It’s a bad angle, he probably can barely see you, but you get a nice view of his face finally.

He’s flushed, like you expected, and he can’t quite hold your gaze. He licks his lips once, twice.

“I want you to touch me. Like… like when we texted.”

Oh, that you can work with. You pour back over him, tugging him tight against you, and your faces are practically touching. Still a weird angle for him, cricking his neck, but you brush your lips along his cheek.

“I was _really_ hoping you’d say that.”

You go slow, sensuous, and also to give him plenty of time to bail. One hand slips under his shirt, thankfully a loose tee, and feels along the soft skin. He’s got a delightful squishiness and when you brush a nipple, he shivers. You refocus on that, circling the little bud with a finger before rolling it between two and it’s like playing an instrument; each twitch and swallowed gasp a lovely note to your song.

You decide to test the limits of his shirt’s stretch and go for a two handed attack. His hand flies to his mouth, covering it, and you’d object if you weren’t in so public a place.

Then again, he did jack off pants-less here just a few weeks ago and this is a pretty secluded part of the rather under-visited library…

You slide your feet between his and while he’s distracted, you pull his legs apart. One hand goes back to his chest, to settle him, while the other slides back down to what he can’t hide from you anymore.

“Think you can stay quiet?” You murmur as you undo his fly.

“Yeah, I c-can.”

He’s already pressing towards your hand, arching into you in the hopes of getting your touch sooner. Luckily for him, you don’t intend to tease, this time.

His shorts are tented and while you’d planned to do exactly as his fantasy had been—stroking him through his clothes—you can’t resist the desire to see him. You don’t think he minds much, with the way he hisses once freed.

You take a moment for yourself to admire the length he’s packing; he’s got a slender cock but it’s long. And as so often happens, it feels quite right in your hand as you slide up and down, more experimental than for pleasure. You press a kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse jump against your lips.

“Still want me to keep going?” You squeeze him, just a little, and he keens, a low, strangled sound.

“Please.”

Your favorite word, especially coming out of a cute boy. You pull him against you more firmly and he sags willingly, head tilted to the side so you can kiss his neck all you’d like. You keep your touch light, getting a feel for his body and the way he reacts, and it’s not long before he’s making little almost-thrusts. When you let go, he whines before clapping his hand back over his mouth.

“Give me a minute, sweetheart. Wetter is better and all that.”

You wet your fingers quickly, not wanting to leave him waiting (and kind of wishing that he hadn’t covered his mouth; he’d look damn good sucking on your fingers). Saliva isn’t the best lubricant, but it’s better than nothing. You feel along the head of his cock, tracing down the glans, and he shudders; pre-come has already slicked him a good bit here and you follow it up to his slit.

“Oh god.” He mutters, hips jerking while you hold the head of his cock between your thumb and index finger.

Not pinching, no, just holding it, admiring how soft it is compared to the hardness just an inch below. And loving the way he twitches every time your finger glides over the particularly sensitive underneath.

You twist your hand, to palm the head of his cock. You go a little firmer with your hand-job and even with his hand muffling most of what he’s saying, you can still pick out more than a few expletives. He thrusts with more urgency now, not staying on your rhythm at all, and you bury your face in his neck.

He actually smells like coffee too; you wonder briefly if maybe he works in a coffee shop or something.

His head falls back against the armchair as you kiss and nibble along.

“I’m, oh, I’m really,”

He can’t quite speak but you get the message. He fails to bite down several more embarrassing sounds too, much to your pleasure. You speed up your hand and he shudders in your embrace, almost writhing, and you hold him tighter against you.

“God, oh, f _uck_ , I’m, I’m gonna-”

His words turn into a shaky whine as he comes, hips stuttering as he thrusts into your hand, chasing every drop of pleasure. It’s lucky the library is as empty as it is, given how entirely he miscalculated his ability to stay quiet. Though you rather like the idea of seeing how red he’d get, you suspect that that kind of sudden exhibitionism would kill him.

Cashew sags against you, heavy-limbed and sated, and you nuzzle his neck. He laughs, breathlessly.

“I… that was… wow.”

“You were stunning.”

He fidgets instead of replying and then, cautiously, slips out of your arms. You let him go and he turns to look at you, earnest and still a little flushed.

“It’s… kind of hard to believe that this is really happening.” He admits softly and then takes a breath. “Can I, well, I’d really like to kiss you? If, that’s alright?”

You want to tease him for it, but he looks so hopeful at the question—and keeping eye-contact and everything—that you just lean forward and go for it. Even though he literally asked for it, he gasps a little before melting in to several soft, sweet kisses.

When you separate, he’s practically glowing and you both giggle a bit about it. He gets off your lap to reach for his bag, fetching some tissues for your come-coated hand, and you appreciate the excellent view of a perky butt, even still covered in pants.

You don’t bother asking, once you’re clean and his clothes are replaced, you just pull him back onto you and snuggle in. He doesn’t complain, just rests his hands over yours, leaning back into with the relaxed heaviness of a recent orgasm.

Once he’s fully recovered—possibly after a nap given how still he’s gone—you’ll gently poke him about setting up a date or something. Or maybe just drag him off to your house for some more cuddling in something actually meant for it. Whichever, you’re flexible.

What’s one more cutie to add to your beautiful little polycule, anyways?


End file.
